I believe the seasons will weather me, 
proud and true.
I’ll blossom, wither and die, 
like all the best people do. 
When I do, 
I’ll look to the light,
as I always have done,
and sing the same song
I have always sung. 

I dream it will feel different
and all too familiar, 
sweet as sugar 
and fleeting as winter. 
I’ll sing like all the best people do. 
I don’t think I’ll think of you. 
The fragrant air will have won,
and another flower will flirt with my sun. 

officialaudreykitching:

‪The soul is speaking loud today.‬

(via lovekist)

(via llleighsmith)

“There is nowhere to go but on.”

you-are-another-me:

violentwavesofemotion:

“I look at the stars and at all nature, and it speaks to me of you in the clearest accents.”

— Mary Shelley, from a diary entry wr. c. October 1822 featured in “Journals,”

(via thebookfreakthatlovesmusic)